


blue light

by eyemoji



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: M/M, implied past kepcobi, this is one of those 'where did this come from lol' fics, why is all m y jacoffel like this, wtf is this i literally do not nkow it's more strung-together words than story tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 01:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11956839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemoji/pseuds/eyemoji
Summary: rep e ate d ex pos ure to blue li ght can sh or ten y our a ttent ion sp an, some say. can... a lien at e you from the fi ner things in li fe.





	blue light

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys i know i haven't been properly here for a while but i'm all moved in now which is great!  
> not saying too much here, but i'm trying a new thing to represent kepler's stretched-out drawl, so tell me yay or nay in the comments if you would :)

they say blue light is dangerous. harmful. protect your children; hide the screens. if the light of wolf 359 is to be taken as an example, then they’re absolutely right.

 

jacobi has the commanding authority to tell hera to  _ shut up and turn off the cameras. _

eiffel has enough affection to ask her nicely. 

 

it really doesn’t matter, in the end. as long as the lights are off and wandering eyes confined to their rooms, eiffel won’t rebuke jacobi for being harsh and jacobi won’t tease eiffel for being too pliant.

 

(after all, it usually works out the other way around.)

 

they try not to talk, under the heavy layers of duvets and breathing, through the thick taste of apologetic explanation and each other’s sweat. they pretend it’s safer this way, that if they don’t spill  _ secrets _ to each other then said secrets will never be rooted out; as if they aren’t written into their very bones, ingrained in fine ridges along the whorls and arches of their fingertips as they press into each other, searching, aching,  _ releasing _ . 

 

wolf 359 is dangerous. they know that, knew that, have  _ always _ known that. what they will never understand is the intricacy with which it works its magic; everyone on the station behaved differently, zhang had said. eiffel and minkowski may have forgotten the day they all turned on each other seemingly inexplicably, but isabel lovelace has not. unfortunately for jacobi and eiffel, she is not written into their ongoing story of two. jacobi never thought he wanted eiffel until he almost killed him trying to murder himself-- well not himself,  _ not-himself _ . ninety-six hours around a star that refuses to burn the way it should, to completion. the light still hurts his eyes, if he remembers too hard. eiffel never bothered to wonder if he wanted jacobi back (his heart already knows. it has resigned itself to another doomed ending, living more for the thrill of the chase than for the promise of intermingled acquiescence.) 

 

wolf 359 is dangerous, but they haven’t realized the extent of what it’s doing to them, let alone its full potential. a particularly bright blue glimmer means eiffel won’t be alone tonight. the two events aren’t related, scientifically (although what passes as science has long been distorted on this particular mission.) but psychologically? the universe would find it unjust to make such promises. blue light tricks your eyes into deforming, blurring the lines of reality just enough so that right looks wrong and wrong looks right.

 

they are very wrong.

 

they are very wrong in a very different kind of way, too. when jacobi pushes a lock of sweat-slicked hair out of eiffel’s eyes and asks, “what will you do when i kill you?” (not  _ would. _ not  _ if. _ )

 

“laugh.”

a space where a sigh ought to be, if eiffel knows him as well as he thinks he does (he doesn’t.)

 

“what will you do when  _ he has me  _ kill you?”

 

another pause.

 

“well i’ll be dead, won’t i?”

 

this is not the right answer. 

the pauses stretch farther and more eerily than the sighs.

 

and although you’d think they’d run out of ways to be wrong, the mistakes keep coming, piling onwards and upwards until they could build a bridge to the star, if they wanted; hurl themselves into the mighty chasm of pulsating emissions they’ve dared to name, as if it claiming it, as if it is theirs. (the transgression, of course, isn’t directly theirs, but synecdoche has outlasted time itself as a literary favorite.) they say things they’ll never mean, along with some that they  _ do _ , but still shouldn’t say. they pretend things are easy, that each of him is  _ fine _ even as they fling each other away with the force of a gunshot to the head, a c4 explosion.

 

and then.  _ and then. _ after they’ve both paid their dues for their scrawny little existences (they might contest this particular adjective, but really, what is physical prowess to one’s life when compared to sheer  _ impact _ , of which both are certainly lacking?) after they  _ went through hell for their fucking mistakes, _ they  _ again _ made the same mistake of--

 

fuck. eiffel can’t remember how he got here, only that jacobi said his hands were shaking and they sure as hell are now, and  _ god _ he’d give any number of things to be able to think clearly enough to look at them go.

 

jacobi claims he’s thinking clearly enough for the two of them.

 

“obviously not; you’re here.”

 

jacobi doesn’t waste his lips on a verbal response.

 

the scene is an intriguing one, for the visual artist; they’re together, naked, alone, in a bedroom that hasn’t seen the light of day for years. well, none of them have, but the  _ creak _ of the springs later when they move to the mattress will validate the expression. eiffel is standing. jacobi is...not. they’re bathed in the negative space of a light so blue it coats the room in a blazing wash of cerulean splendor, casting them in molds so grey and firm that they might as well be moving statues. the scene is not pretty, but it is captivating.

 

trust me, i was there. i can describe to you in more half-purpled prose (blue, perhaps?) how they rocked and bucked into each other, how no chamber alive could have contained the volume of the screams they swallowed beneath their tongues.

i could,

but i w on ’t.

 

rep e ate d ex pos ure to blue li ght can sh or ten y our a ttent ion sp an, some say. can... a lien at e you from the fi ner things in li fe.

 

i’ m not here to comment on modern sci en tific con troversy, but in this case, i’ d have to agree. i’ve done my time. i’ve seen my share of things. and i’ve pulled myself back, more than once or twice. there’s a fine line between most things, and i’ve worked hard to be able to see it with precision. and if doctor maxwell had better eyesight than me? well, then, that’s just more proof of her naivety.

 

so,  **officer e i ffel** , would you be so kind as to provide an explanation? tell me-- in as few words as possible, please, though i know it will be excruciatingly difficult for you to rein in your tongue-- how exactly you managed to charm away my right hand to the brink of sheer insanity?

 

_ “no, you see, that was lovelace--” _

 

how you stole him away from my iron fist by meeting it with a kiss? “how you brought the great daniel jacobi to his knees, willingly, with just a whimper here or there or a bat of those big, sad eyes?”

 

“sir--”

 

“jacobi always did like the fools. guess that’s why i was never destined to stick.”

 

“ _ colonel--”  _

 

goodbye.

 

_ “wait--” _

 

you’ve lost your chance.

i may have a bad hand but i? i play to win.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so yeah apologies if this is terrible it is 2:05 am as i'm posting this and it's been a long day but i would like to share writing with you and have no energy to work on the 28379 in-progress pieces i have (believe me; i tried,) so take this, whatever it is.  
> hope it made some semblance of sense and you can find me @justasmalltownai on tumblr thank you


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